Chapter Four

Angelo’s Fencing Academy

Bond Street, London

A week later

 

“Word is, you are paying court to the Hardcastle chit.” The comment came from Preston’s friend George as they changed into street clothes following their sparring match.

Preston’s jaw clenched. While he found squiring Miss Hardcastle around Town quite enjoyable, he hadn’t yet come to a decision about entering into a marriage with her, convenient or not.

“Stuff it, George. I met the girl last week and we danced at the Bellners’ ball.”

They’d danced twice together, and he’d been included in a visit to the British Museum with the Hardcastle family, but hopefully George hadn’t heard that.

“Why so testy, old man? She’s a lovely girl, and quite amiable too, even when she turns down your proposal, which she has done to every suitor who has ventured to attempt it.”

Preston swallowed a smile as he considered that the lady in question had all but proposed to him.

“You, George? I hadn’t thought you were thinking of going for a leg-shackle for a very long time.”

George snorted. “Don’t be daft. Hines and Willoughby offered for her. Fredericks was so cut-up about her rejection, he bought a commission and joined the troops on the Peninsula.”

Preston whistled. “She turned down all of them? Hines I can see because he’s an idiot, but Willoughby? And Fredericks?”

George reached toward the waistcoat held out for him by the attendant. “And more besides. Word is she’s a bluestocking, a follower of that Wollestonecraft woman.” George shrugged the garment over his shoulders then clapped a hand on Preston’s shoulder. “Not a comfortable wife, as I see it. If you were looking for a wife.” He finished buttoning his waistcoat and turned to look directly at Preston. “You aren’t, are you?”

Preston tugged at his jacket. “Don’t be ridiculous,” his answer lacked conviction.

His friend stopped suddenly and stared at him incredulously. “The devil of it! You are! I cannot believe it! Preston Warrington stung by Cupid’s arrow and madly in love with one of the few women in town who doesn’t want a husband.”

Preston pursed his lips. “You are a nitwit, George. Now be out of my way before I decide to damage that pretty face of yours.”

Leaving his vexatious companion behind, Preston donned his hat and strode out of the building.

 

Leicester Square

London

 Later that afternoon

 

“The provincial bonnet, I think,” said Norton, as she plucked a box from the wardrobe. “The cinnamon color goes well with your eyes.”

This was true. The pretty blues and pinks gave Cornelia a sickly appearance, but certain browns and greens brought out the vibrance in her olive complexion. She’d never minded the resemblance to her beautiful, exotic mother until the infamous day she’d discovered the reason she possessed no hint of her father’s English traits. The day she’d given up all hope of a marriage and children.

“It will do.” Cornelia rose from the dressing table. “Now bring me the pelisse and I’ll be away. Mr. Warrington is due at any moment.”

“Yes, miss. Although, they say it deepens a man’s feelings to keep him waiting for a spell.”

“So they say,” Cornelia said with a distinct lack of excitement as she strode toward the door. Mr. Warrington was the sort of gentleman she might have considered spending her life with if…things were different.

Cornelia tried to hide her somber mood when Mr. Warrington arrived and helped her up into the curricle he’d brought.

“My brother’s,” he explained. “William keeps it in Town for Joanna and the girls.”

“How very convenient. Do they come to Town often?”

“For the Season, when Joanna is not expecting. And perhaps at other times, for shopping and so on. I have been abroad throughout most of their marriage, so I can’t say for certain.”

“And she’s expecting now. I suppose they are hoping for a son this time.”

“Indeed. We are all hoping for a son. The girls are delightful, but Warrington needs an heir.”

Something in his voice alerted her to a possible complication. “You are the current heir. Are you certain you do not need an heir yourself? Because if so…perhaps we should not proceed with this marriage.”

“Not at all. If this child is another girl, well, Joanna is a good breeder. William is the responsible one who keeps the family line safe. The last thing I need is a family of my own to weigh me down.” He angled his head toward her and stared into her eyes. “But you, though. Is there a chance you might someday wish for children of your own? Most women do.”

Cornelia swallowed. Of course, she wished for children. Perhaps even with this charming man. If things were different, that is.

“I am not most women,” she said curtly. “You needn’t worry that I shall change my mind and plague you to alter our bargain. Oh, there is Lady Sefton with her daughter, Georgiana.” Cornelia made eye contact with Lady Sefton. “Good afternoon, ladies. Is it not a lovely day?”

The afternoon progressed without further reference to children or heirs, but Cornelia’s heart weighed heavy with the knowledge that circumstances precluded her from making a real marriage with the strikingly handsome man on the seat beside her. What a pity to be a wife in name only while her husband traveled the world and took his pleasures where he would.

But alas, it was the way of the world, was it not? Even in the best marriages, men weren’t always faithful to their wives. It was far more important that she could trust him not to be cruel to her. Of course, the unspoken threat of her father’s vengeance against anyone who mistreated her would probably make any man think twice about doing so, but the admiral would be an ocean away.

As her husband would be, throughout their marriage. Independence. As a married woman, I shall be free to do as I please, and that’s all I really want. Isn’t it?